


Gimme Shelter

by Mynsii



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Love, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 00:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12024408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mynsii/pseuds/Mynsii
Summary: Vegeta ponders the human condition. / A short series of drabbles.





	1. Age

**Author's Note:**

> These were a series of drabbles clogging up the notes app of my phone. Not Beta-Read, just splurged out.

“Do you still love me?”

  
Vegeta froze at the question, his jaw tightening. He had been watching her apply her makeup, enjoying the view of his woman preening herself. He hadn't anticipated the ambush, and it didn't sit well with him.

  
“Tch, what kind of question is that?”

  
She looked at him dolefully. “Just answer it, please?”

  
Vegeta sighed, pulling himself up and resting his cheek on his knee. Blood was rushing to his face, and he hated that she was capable of eliciting such a response from his body. “Did my display at your birthday party not confirm how I feel about you, woman?”

  
She smiled both at the memory, and at the endearingly child-like way he sat. “I did. I just like to hear you say it sometimes.”

  
The blush darked. “I do. I love you.”

  
“Good, I love you too.”

  
But, of course, he already knew that.

  
She returned to her makeup and he returned to watching her. He hadn't understood her routine when he'd first began observing her all those years ago, but he appreciated it now. He knew little about art, but he knew she had a talent for subtly bringing out her best features, even if she didn't need to.

  
“I've been thinking about collecting the Dragon Balls.”

  
“Uhuh.” He was only half listening, now preoccupied by her reflection, and the image of her undone robe exposing a _lot_ of flesh. He licked his lips subconsciously.

  
“But I don't think they'd grant me my wish.”

  
That caught his interest. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why not?”

  
It was her turn to blush, a pale shade of pink staining her milky cheeks. “I wanted to ask Shenron if he could make me age like you. Like a Saiyan.”

  
Vegeta blinked in surprise. “But why?”

  
“Isn't it obvious?”

  
“No.”

  
“The last time Mirai Trunks was here you looked more like his brother than his father. I understand he's from the future, but...”

  
“But what.”

  
“You looked around the same age.”

  
“So?”

  
“He's thirty-one, Vegeta.”

  
“Your point being?”

  
“I'm forty-six.”

  
He frowned, trying to connect the dots. In battle, he was a strategic genius. When it came to Bulma and the inner workings of her mind, he was as ignorant as Kakarot.

  
She seemed to sense his confusion and sighed. “So, you've barely aged since we met.”

  
That was true. He'd bulked out and gained an inch or two (enough to finally tip the scales in his favour and grow taller than his wife) in his early thirties, but that was the norm for Saiyans. Puberty was a long, drawn-out process and they grew in stops and starts. “It's a biological defence to aid us in battle. Allowing us to fight to the best of our ability for as long as we can.”

  
“I understand that, but with every year that passes I get older and you stay the same.”

  
“Woman, I am older than you.” Quite a bit older, actually, thanks to the Hyperbolic Time Chamber.

  
“But you're not. Physically....physically you're so young.” Bulma growled in apparent frustration. “I was already in my thirties when we got together. I'm at an unfair disadvantage.”

“Tch.”

“I... I gave all my best years to Yamcha.”

She sounded sad. He felt pissed off.

Time had done nothing to endear him to the scar faced warrior. He'd grown to tolerate, even respect, most of the others. Bulma referred to the group as their friends and he no longer disagreed. But he had never embraced Yamcha. A little voice in the back of his mind told him it was jealous. Because he'd known Bulma's body before Vegeta had. Because he'd loved her first. Because she'd loved him first. He tried to slit the throat of that voice every time it reared its ugly head.

“You're a fool if you believe that.”

“It's true. I was a kid then. Pretty soon I'm going to start looking like your mother,” Bulma's lovely face contorted in mortification. “Pretty soon I'm going to start looking like your grandmother.”

“No, you'll look like my wife.” He rose to his feet, walking to her vanity and crouching next to her as he spoke. She had tears in her eyes and his heart fluttered.  
“I'm going to be ugly and old, and you'll be young and handsome, and you'll resent me and--”

He cut her off by gently pressing his lips to hers, holding her chin between his thumb and index finger. Her body tensed for a second, but she eventually relaxed into the gesture and kissed him back, her hands snaking into his hair.

He didn't understand the human preoccupation with ageing. Didn't understand why they wasted money on lotions and creams claiming to fight off the process. Had even less of an understanding as to why someone like Bulma could buy into such nonsense. She could never be anything less than perfect in his eyes, little and soft and warm. Bright blue eyes that sucked the soul out of his body and trapped it there, the wicked curve of her lips. She was more beautiful than he knew how to say, each day more enchanting than the last.

He shuddered and broke the kiss, smirking when she mewled in protest.

“I am a prince. I surround myself with only the very best. The strongest. The most beautiful.” He slipped one hand under her robe, finding a strange sense of peace when her heart sped up under his palm.

“My Bulma.”


	2. Reproduction

“I think we should have another child.”

The desire had been fluttering around inside of him for a while now, and while he'd initially treated it with suspicion, and then apprehension, he was finally ready to vocalise his interests in extending his brood. He'd been a terrible father to Trunks, especially during the early years, and while he hoped he was at the very least making up for it now, something stirred within him that begged for a second chance. The birth of Gohan's child had done nothing to relieve this itch. Instead it only worsened it, and each and every tale Kakarot shared during their training sessions about his precious Pan made the dull ache within him screech. Still, that didn't ease the hot prickle of his skin. Which only increased when Bulma laughed, shaking her little head in amusement

“Do you know how old we are?" 

“Obviously.”

 “So, you know I might not be able to get pregnant again, right?”

It had never occurred to him that they might be too old. Saiyan women were able to keep birthing children until the end of their fighting years, though many of them did rely on artificial incubation for most of the pregnancy. That being said, he didn't know much about the reproductive systems of humans other than they were compatible (oh, were they _very_ compatible) with his own, and the gestational period of humans and half-breeds was a _lot_ shorter than that of a full-blooded Saiyan.

“Oh,” he said simply. 

Bulma looked at him, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips. It made his chest constrict painfully. “What brought this on?” 

“Kakarot's grandchild..” he confessed guiltily. 

“Vegeta, it's probably a very telling sign that our friends are having _grandchildren._ ” She stopped to amend her statement. “Our _younger_ friends are having grandchildren.” 

“Fine, forget it,” Vegeta huffed. He looked down, feeling hot and rejected and utterly humiliated. “I'm going to train.”

 He was half way out of the room when he felt her little hand grab his wrist. He could have easily broken free, but he ceased his movements.

“A baby might be nice...” Bulma mused. “A little dark haired, darked eyed prince or princess... Trunks loves Goten and Pan. He'd make such a good big brother.”

Vegeta's' throat bobbed. He couldn't be sure she wasn't teasing him, but a tiny spark of hope had been ignited within him.

“Trunks looks like you,” She continued. “He's your double, just with my hair and eyes. I wonder what a baby with my features but your Saiyan hair colour would look like?” 

He turned around, found her deep in thought and pulled her close. Gently, he pressed his face into her neck, lips ghosting over her throat. “Beautiful, just like their mother.”

“We can make our own army,” He said, smirking. He nipped at the skin and she squirmed, her back arching. He could hear the low rumble of a moan in the back of her throat, and blood rushed to his crotch in response. It might be nice to see a brood of his own kind scrambling around the compound. I would be _very_ nice to make said army. “Five is a good number.”

Bulma was already working on his armour, unbuckling it with shaking hands. She used to fumble with it for minutes before he'd shove her away with agitation and take it off himself. Now she was a pro.

“I wonder if it would be a boy or a girl?”

“I don't care,” he mumbled truthfully. He tore the t-shirt she was wearing, knowing full well she'd reprimand him later but not presently caring. When his armour was off and the scraps of her shirt had been shed, he went to work on her neck, kissing, licking, biting at the sensitive flesh as one hand crept lower and slipped beneath the waist band of her jeans. She was already grinding against him, moaning his name quietly when he asked “is that a yes?”

Lips parted, head tossed back, on the brink of coming undone, she breathily whispered “what do you think we're doing now?”

 With a growl, he pushed her back against the wall and wondered how many times they'd have to try. When her hands groped for his cock, he hoped it would at least be a few.

 


	3. Passion

He could feel her flutter and tighten around him, groaning at the sensation. It seemed strange to him now, buried deep within a blue-haired temptress, that he once considered sex to be a chore. A biological need that only hindered him, and was acted upon sparingly when the mood struck. He had so prudishly rejected her advances and scoffed at her honeyed words when he'd first settled down on Earth. His only desire had been to train, to get stronger.

But soon he found her creeping into his bed, later into his heart, and she scratched a growing biological itch quite nicely. So nicely, in fact, he'd often found himself racing to finish his katas just so he could bend her over and fuck her senseless. He'd once thought killing was life's greatest pleasure. But, then again, he'd never had his cock sucked by a foul mouthed human girl before.

His fingers journeyed to her her core, thumbing her slickened bud, her back arching in response. A bead of sweat dropped down between her breasts, and he knew from her staggered breaths and flushed cheeks that she was close. The hand on her hip tightened its grip, enough to leave a bruise in the morning, and she her she shuddered.

"You like that?" He dropped his voice, a low growl he knew made her knees wobble.

She nodded, flustered and lost in herself, in him, unable to articulate much beyond moans of pleasure and garbled attempts at his name. He liked that, after all these years, he still had that effect on her. He moaned when she tightened around him again, her hips rocking a little harder, a little faster. He was getting close, his thoughts becoming scattered and his nerves shuddering every which way.

He chased her orgasm before his own, increasing the pressure of his thumb against her clit, inserting a finger inside her to join his cock and crooking it against the spot that had her whimpering and sobbing with ecstasy. It was a move he rarely pulled, worrying about hurting her, but he was dangerously close to losing control, and the way her thighs began to tremble told him not to worry.

It had never been that way before. A fuck had simply been a fuck, and once he'd purged himself of that desire he'd purge a planet or two to satisfy an even stronger need. He didn't care when he left those women bored and unsatisfied. Especially when he was equally as unfulfilled. But she'd taught him more about sex than any whore in space could.

"V-vegeta." She came with a whimper of his name, her body stiffening, head tossed back, eyes squeezed shut. Hot and wet and tight, he couldn't stop himself from following her almost immediately, maintaining just enough restraint to stop himself accidentally crushing her hip with his hand.

She seemed not to notice, or if she didn't she simply didn't care, going limp and falling against his chest. He was still riding out the high when she kissed him lazily. She tasted like salt and strawberries.

"I love you," she slurred.

Smaller, softer, but with just as much meaning, he whispered, "I love you too."


	4. Death

He looked down at his children, struggling with himself as the unfamiliar ache of _something_ cramped in his muscles and scorched his skin.

Trunks was snivelling, clutching his father's hand tightly, using his fist to rub at his red and swollen eyes. Vegeta squeezed his son's hand gently. Usually he would scold his son for such emotions, but not today. Today was about comforting the weeping child.

Bra was perched at her fathers hip, gripping the material of his black shirt tightly, pale and watery eyed and not fully understanding the situation at hand. She was only a baby, after all, and so much more innocent than Vegeta ever was – even when he was her age – how could she possibly fathom it?

There was a lump forming in Vegeta's throat that he just couldn't swallow down, growing more prominent with each tear shed by his beloved children. He was far younger than Trunks when he had dealt with the death of his entire race, and yet he wished more than anything that he could shield the boy from the inevitability of it all for just a little longer.

Now he was just glad it hadn't rained.

“Why did she have to die, dad?” Trunks asked, his words lost in a hiccup. He felt the child's fingers tighten in his sweaty palm, and wondered why humans habitually subjected themselves to emotional attachments when they all lead to misery in the end.

“It's just the way life is,” he replied simply. He tugged the boy closer to his body, dropping his hand and instead embracing him in an awkward, one armed hug. The pointed look exchanged between Chi Chi and Yamcha didn't go unnoticed, but for once he didn't care. The paternal need to nurture and protect was overriding every Saiyan instinct.

He'd never felt more pathetically human.

The lump was strangling Vegeta now. He couldn't breathe, the collar of his black dress shirt choking him. He looked down at his infant daughter with mild panic, worried he may drop her or she would somehow be physically harmed by the sea of emotions rearing up like a tsunami inside of him. She seemed okay. Okay as she could be, given the circumstances.

“Can't we just wish her back with the Dragon Balls?”

“No.”

“But why? Dad, _please._ ”

“Because,” Vegeta's breath hitched, and he hugged his son tighter. “Because sometimes death is permanent.”

“When you died you were wished back.”

“I know.”

“So why can't we wish _her_ back?”

“I didn't die of natural causes. She... she got sick. She got _too_ sick. If we brought her back it would only prolong her suffering.” He paused when Bra let out a small sob, burying her little face into his chest. “It would be cruel.”

“But it hurts. And I miss her.”

“I know.”

\---

The casket was lowered into the ground, and Vegeta could feel the trembling energies of his children writhing in pain.

Death had been a familiar friend during his childhood. Had meant nothing to him during adulthood; he had beaten it twice, after all. Felt his punctured lungs swell with blood, felt his body tear itself apart in sacrifice. He's stared death in the face countless times and _laughed._ Had the blood of _millions_ on his hands.

It had all meant nothing to him. Until this moment.

He'd quietly wanted better for his children. **He'd failed.**

\---  
  
“Hey buddy.”

It was Gohan, crouched down and talking to Trunks in a voice reserved for children that Vegeta had just never mastered. Maybe he wasn't cut out for parenthood. Too gruff, too feral. Not like Bulma. His beautiful, clever Bulma. He wished she was here to help him. He felt so lost, so out of control. She'd know what to do.

Vegeta's arm stiffened protectively around the boy, and Kakarot's eldest flashed Vegeta a sympathetic smile. “You know you can always come and hang out with me and Goten at my place when you're feeling sad, right? When my dad was...gone being at home all the time was hard. Too many memories. I used to come visit you and your Dad back then, remember? Your dad used to make fun of me for going soft, but I remember a time when he rocked pink shirts and yellow pants so he's hardly one to talk.”

Vegeta usually would have had some biting remark ready, but the boy had worked a small giggle from Trunks, so he just nodded at Gohan instead, silently thanking him.

The younger man rose to his feet, reaching out to pat Bra's head. She reared back, shot him a filthy look, bristling with a combination of tiny rage and heartache. She was definitely Vegeta's daughter, although he was hiding his emotions behind a stoic wall today. At least, he hoped he was, for his children's sake.

“Be nice,” He mumbled into her hair, planting a small kiss on the top of her head. Bra relaxed under his touch, extending a chubby arm Gohan's way in way of an apology. Gohan took it, shaking it gently, before retuning to his own toddler.

No-one spoke to him as funeral congregation dispersed. Offering their condolences only to the little half-breed children who clung possessively to his side.

“Come on boy,” Vegeta picked up his elder child, sitting him on his other hip so that he was mirroring his sister. The boy was far too old, far too big for such an action, but both Vegeta and Trunks clung to the gesture, making up for the lack of physical contact during the boys infancy. Vegeta had been a terrible father back then. He felt like a terrible father now. But it seemed like something Bulma would have done, and if he were being honest with himself, Vegeta needed to keep both of his heartbroken children close. “Let's get you cleaned up and fed.”

\---

He threw himself down on the bed, closing his eyes and trying to squeeze out the events of the day.

He felt the bed dip, the rush of her perfume invading his senses and smiled despite himself. When he opened his eyes again she was by his side, lovely and pale, and warm. Her hair was getting long again, down past her chin for the first time in years. He liked it. It reminded him of when they first started fucking. It felt like a lifetime ago.

He was a different man back then. A monster.

Yet she had loved him anyway.

“Thank you for today, I'm sorry I had to work. But it was a very sweet thing you did for Trunks and Bra. It means a lot to me.” Bulma cupped Vegeta's face with her hands, and he felt himself melt under her touch.

“Tch. They're my children too.”

“I know. But I also know you don't really understand these things, and it's hard for you. You're a good dad.”

A blush began to creep up his neck. “Shut up.”

Her hands began to work their way down. Down his neck, down his chest, tracing scars that marred almost every inch of flesh. Down, down, down they went. Under the band of his boxers. Lingering just under the elastic. He shivered.

“Do you think the boy will be okay?”

“Yeah, just give him a few weeks and he'll be fine. It's the first time he's had to deal with death since...since you died. It's probably bringing up some unpleasant memories. He'll work through it though. He's strong, like his daddy.”

“Tch.”

He felt himself coming undone at her touch, slowly unravelling. She purred when his body responded to her stilled fingertips, and moved to straddle his waist instead. Her pert little bottom was pressing deliciously against his groin, and he smirked. His fingers absently traced the outline of her body, and he wondered briefly how he got so lucky.

She was reaching for the hem of her shirt when he remembered the question that had been burning on his lips all day.

“The fuck is a guinea pig anyway?”

Bulma laughed, tugged her shirt off and leant down to kiss him. Skin met skin, and Vegeta felt a thrill run down his spine.

“I'll tell you later.”

 

 


End file.
